Ain't No Chicken
by DareU2Bme
Summary: "Whoever loses has to kiss Derek!" ...Stiles loses.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Ain't No Chicken

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Derek/Stiles... the rest of the pack

* * *

**PART ONE  
**

* * *

"That's great, but it'd be way more interesting if we raised the stakes," Stiles cut in, causing the group to all pause in their discussion.

Erica cocked her head to the side, her interest immediately piqued. Scott looked apprehensive, which made sense considering previous experiences. Jackson looked irritated, but it was sort of his standard facial expression when around Stiles.

"You losers don't have near the kind of cash flow to make this remotely 'more interesting'; especially you, Stiles," he snapped.

"I didn't say anything about money," countered Stiles with a roll of his eyes. "I'm thinking the loser has to do something."

"Like what?" asked Boyd from across the coffee table where he was sprawled in Derek's large, leather sofa chair.

Stiles scrunched his face in thought. Everyone was quiet for a few seconds, waiting for his idea. It wasn't until Jackson let out an annoyed huff that Stiles' eyes popped open and a devilish grin played across his face.

"Whoever loses has to... kiss Derek!" he announced, brightly.

"What!?" exclaimed Scott in horror while Jackson started to say "just because you're gay for..."

Stiles didn't pay either any attention, though, because at the same time, Erika had said "been there, done that, not that great," with a shrug and a disinterested expression.

"What?" squawked Stiles in surprise,"this is definitely news to me."

Scott and Jackson looked surprised, too, but Boyd and Isaac both just grimaced.

"You threw yourself at him and attacked his face," said Isaac, looking almost ill from the memory.

"And then he threw you on the floor," reminded Boyd looking annoyed.

Erika shrugged.

"I told you guys," said Jackson, shaking his head. "He's fucking gay!"

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Jackson, trying to keep his features schooled into annoyance instead of giving away any sort of curiosity. The guy was a total douche, but his best friend was gay; maybe he had developed gaydar purely from exposure. Actually, it was more likely that Danny would become a douche from exposure to Jackson. Really, it was amazing he had lasted this long.

"You sure talk about being gay a lot, Jackson," said Stiles, instead. "Are you trying to tell us something?"

"Shut up, Bilinski!" snapped Jackson.

"So, the winner gets out of paying for pizza for the next two months," said Boyd, obviously wanting to move the conversation back onto topic. "The loser has to kiss Derek."

"On the mouth," piped up Erika, smirking.

"And you can't give him any explanation for it," finished Boyd.

"Stiles," said Erika, insinuating that the last bit was directed at him.

"What?" exclaimed Stiles, putting a hand on his chest and giving her a look of affront. "It was me who even suggested this!"

"Gay," said Jackson, shaking his head.

"Can I say something?" asked Scott, his voice cracking a little.

"Derek will literally kill-" started Isaac.

"Who will I kill?" cut in Derek, gruffly, causing everyone to startle and slowly turn his direction.

"Ooooh, heeeey there, Derek, ol' buddy," stammered Stiles, leaning defensively into Scott, as if Scott could save him. "Five supernatural dudes in the room and not a one heard or smelled him come home," he muttered under his breath before giving Derek a guilty smile. "I was just telling Erica and Boyd not to exchange bodily fluids on your furniture or you'd..."

"...literally kill them," finished Derek, looking from Stiles to Isaac with his trademarked unimpressed expression.

"We were actually talking about Stiles' secret crush on you," cut in Jackson, looking smug.

"Well, I know that's a lie," said Derek, "Stiles can't keep secrets."

Erika cackled.

"Hey!" exclaimed Stiles, flailing his arms dramatically. "I can so!"

Boyd shook his head, giving everyone a look of disdain before looking over at Derek. "We've just decided to make a competition out of who can guess what the lunch lady is going to serve for lunch every day for the week."

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his eyebrow judgingly.

"Don't give us that look, Derek," said Erica. "It has been way too quiet lately and we're bored."

"Not that we miss having supernatural monsters coming after us or anything," added Scott, almost as if he feared their complaints of being bored alone could conjure up new creatures to fight. Actually, it could be a possibility.

"I do," said Erica with a cocky grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"It's time for training," said Derek after a few beats of awkward silence. "Good bye, Scott and Stiles."

Stiles stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, but got up and followed Scott to the front door. They still weren't considered pack in Derek's eyes, as much as they'd worked together in the past year. They were allies, for sure, but Derek still made attempts at keeping them at arm's length.

* * *

"I can not believe this!" exclaimed Stiles in frustration.

Isaac just smiled at him, his stupid gorgeous face still looking angelic even when he was so freaking smug. Stiles wanted to kick him in the shin. Jackson was laughing so hard that no sounds were actually coming out of his mouth while tears were streaming down his face. Stiles wanted to kick him too, but maybe someplace more tender.

"I can't be-ugh! This is so unfair," groaned Stiles, covering his head with his hands while Scott patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I had a system!"

"I know," said Scott, continuing to pat him. "You totally did."

"Then they had to go and change it up!" exclaimed Stiles surging up and throwing his balled fists out dramatically, completely ignoring Scott. "Today was spaghetti and ceasar salad day! I made a graph! I made a fucking graph, you guys! They have never deviated from their pattern before!"

"That's really too bad," said Erica, grinning. "You know what this means, though, don't you, Stiles?"

"What's going on?" asked Allison, walking up to the cafeteria table they were all seated at, a tray in hand with that damn mushroom soup sitting atop.

"Stiles has to kiss Derek," said Scott.

"What?" she asked, brow wrinkling.

"He lost a bet," explained Boyd, not even hiding his own glee at the situation.

Jackson was still shaking with laughter. Isaac was grinning while he enjoyed his victory soup. Stiles dropped his head to the table and groaned. Allison set her tray down next to Scott's and then put a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Do you want me to go get you some lunch?" she asked sounding all motherly and sweet.

"No," groaned Stiles against the table, "I will not eat that traitorous poison!"

"So, when are you going to do it?" asked Erica. "There should be some sort of time limit on this."

Stiles moved so his chin was resting on the table instead of his forehead and glared at everyone within range.

"I think it should be before midnight tonight," said Boyd, nodding thoughtfully.

"I'm going to die," complained Stiles. "Can't you at least give me forty-eight hours to get my effects in order? Write a will?"

"No way man," said Jackson, finally recovering from his fit, "you made your bed, now you fucking lay in it."

Stiles groaned again, glancing over at Isaac. The kid had the audacity to take a big spoonful of his soup and make an exaggerated 'mmmm' sound. Stiles scowled at him.

* * *

Stiles was silent on the drive to Derek's that afternoon, focusing his eyes on the road and grinding his teeth as he weighed his options. There was no way they would let him out of this, but perhaps if he headed south for the border... no, they could track his scent. He was fucked.

"Stiles," spoke Scott once they had turned down the long, gravel road leading to Derek's house. He had been fidgety the entire drive, obviously feeling awkward over Stiles' unusual silence. "Stiles," he repeated, "you don't have to do this. I mean, I kind of thought it was some sort of plan when you first came up with it, but you smell like fear and-"

"You thought what?" asked Stiles, turning sharply in his seat to stare wide-eyed at Scott.

"Well, because you have a crush on Derek," said Scott, shrugging. "I thought you wanted the excuse to make a move or something."

"I do not have a crush on Derek," exclaimed Stiles in protest, the jeep veering sharply to the left from his hands' jerking motions.

Scott braced himself in his seat with a hand on the ceiling of the jeep. Stiles rolled his eyes at his friend because, really, supernatural healing powers, what did he care if they crashed? Not that they would, Stiles loved his jeep and had a lot of experience driving while distressed, thank you very much.

"Then why does your heart rate pick up every time his name is even mentioned?" Scott asked gently, as if worried Stiles might fall apart or fly off the handle. It only served to upset Stiles further, honestly.

"Maybe because I have a healthy amount of fear for the creeper?" asked Stiles through grit teeth.

"It definitely isn't..." Scott trailed off when Stiles shot him a look that was two parts angry and one part pleading. "Yeah, okay," he said instead, "you're right. So, what are you going to do? Are you really going to kiss him because, Stiles, he'll-"

"Rip my throat out with his teeth," finished Stiles with a roll of his eyes.

"I was going to say 'be mad', but yeah, maybe," said Scott with a grimace and a nod.

"Awesome," groaned Stiles.

Erica was sitting on the doorstep of Derek's house with her arms crossed over her knees and a bright grin on her face when Stiles pulled up. Stiles made a face at her through the windshield and pulled the key from the ignition. Jackson and Lydia pulled up in his porsche a few moments later.

Scott gave Stiles a worried half-smile over the hood of the jeep as they walked around it toward the new house. It was a lot smaller than the original Hale house, but rested on the same foundation. Stiles always had to stop himself from thinking about how hard it had to be for Derek to even go into the basement knowing it was the same concrete walls that had held his family hostage. He shivered and shook his head to try to rid himself of the sudden melancholy.

"Derek and Isaac are picking up the pizza," said Boyd, poking his head out the front door before letting it swing wide. "Everyone needs to chip in a few bucks to cover it, except Isaac."

Stiles grumbled under his breath. Jackson caught his eye and grinned at him with a creepy smile that rivaled The Joker's in its malice. Stiles grit his teeth. He should have taken his chances on fleeing to Mexico.

Everyone settled into the large living room, Boyd taking his favorite spot in Derek's big, leather chair. Erica turned on the large television and started up a multiplayer video game for them to play while they waited.

Originally, they had gathered Friday nights for pack meetings when they had to work out the whole 'what to do next' in the more dire situations involving the alpha pack and various other threats. Now, though, they mostly just sat around and watched movies while stuffing themselves with pizza. It was nice to have a group of friends, even if it was an unusual grouping established by unreal circumstances.

They played a motorbike racing game. Scott was hilarious to watch because he leaned the direction he wanted to go while he button smashed. Stiles came in dead last every time that evening, though he was normally not too bad at the game.

"Calm down, Stiles," growled Jackson a little while later. "You're going to make Derek suspicious before you even get to the lip-locking."

"Your pulse is racing," confirmed Boyd, not taking his eyes off the game where he was currently kicking Scott's ass.

"Not fair that you guys can smell and hear my whole current emotional and physical state," grumbled Stiles, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment even as he worked to keep his expression somewhere between neutral and annoyed. "All I can do to judge what's going on is rely on my piddly human senses."

"My piddly human senses tell me you're upset about something," cut in Lydia with a self-satisfied smirk that looked way too attractive on her bright lips to be fair. "You are pale as a ghost and you look a few unhappy thoughts away from a full-fledged panic attack."

Stiles groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"You don't know?" he asked, his voice a little muffled from his hands. "I thought Jackson would have told you by now."

"Is it going to affect me?" she asked, Stiles assumed she was asking Jackson who she was cuddled against on the loveseat.

"Nope," answered Jackson.

"Then, I don't care," she said dismissively.

"It is going to be hilarious, though," said Erica.

Everyone perked, then, when the sound of Derek's Camaro caught their attentions. Stiles groaned again.

"Do it right away," whispered Scott, "so you can get it over with."

"I think I'll enjoy my last meal first, thank you," replied Stiles before letting out a nervous sigh and straightening.

The front door opened and Isaac came in with a pile of white pizza boxes in his arms. A large grin burst across his face when his eyes landed on Stiles.

"Not a single one of you is subtle," grit out Stiles just as Derek stepped into the house, another mountain of pizza boxes in his arms.

Everyone got up and followed the delicious smell of pizza into the kitchen. Stiles went at a slower pace. Erica brushed past him, patting his arm as she went in what was probably supposed to be a sympathetic or supportive gesture, but she had already made her enjoyment of the situation very well known.

"You should do it before pizza," she said, "then, if you die, I can have your share."

"Ha, ha, ha!" called Stiles after her with not an ounce of amusement.

* * *

Everyone was seated around the long, solid wood table a few minutes later when Stiles decided to just get it over with.

"Like ripping off a band-aid," he muttered to himself. It caught Boyd's attention who was sitting to his left. Stiles could tell because the guy's lips twitched and he sat a little straighter as if in anticipation for what was sure to be entertaining for him. Stiles wanted to hate him for it, but knew if the tables were turned, he'd probably be a lot more obnoxious in his own delight.

Derek walked in and set a plate down in front of Stiles a few moments later and it was the perfect opportunity.

"The Works, no green peppers," announced Derek.

Stiles jerkily stood up in a weird crouch-thing because the chair didn't slide back with his movement and his knees had hit the leg of the table. With a shaky hand, he reached out and caught Derek by the collar of his shirt.

"Thanks, man," he croaked before quickly leaning in and crashing his lips against Derek's.

It was a really bad kiss. Really bad. Stiles wasn't a particular kiss connoisseur or anything, but this was epically bad. It could possibly be the worst kiss to ever exist. The Kiss of Death was probably more enjoyable than this kiss. Huh, that kiss also involved a superhuman being and friends betraying friends. Not that Stiles was comparing Derek to Jesus, that would be sacrilegious; he was just pointing out that there were, in fact, similarities.

It wasn't even really a kiss, though. No, it was more of an off-centre smashing of puckered lips against not-so-puckered lips, than a kiss. Stiles was so going to die.

Derek's hands rose to grasp Stiles biceps and, for a crazy second, Stiles thought the man was going to kiss him back. Instead, Derek used his hold on Stiles to direct him firmly back down into his seat. Then, he peeled Stiles' hand from his shirt where it was still clenched around the fabric in a white-knuckled grip, before straightening and walking away.

Once Derek had left the dining room, Stiles managed to finally inhale a breath. He looked around the table to see everyone was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Well, that was ridiculous," snapped Lydia after a few pregnant moments.

Stiles exhaled and kind of just crumpled into his seat with a soft groan.

Derek returned a moments later with three more plates balanced in his hands. He set them down in front of Erica, Boyd and Scott before taking a seat between Jackson and Isaac's empty chair. Isaac came into the room seconds later with drinks, took one look around the room before letting out a long, frustrated whine.

"I missed it, didn't I!?" he exclaimed in disappointment.

"Just eat your pizza," commanded Derek.

A few people snickered, but Stiles was busy staring intently at the two slices of pizza on his plate.

* * *

Derek didn't say anything about the kiss the whole evening. Stiles was relieved. He was definitely on board the pretend-it-never-happened train if that was what Derek wanted. Stiles had gone home late that evening with a belly ache from the amount of pizza and soda he had ingested, and a grin on his face from the good times spent laughing over the latest ridiculous comedies Boyd had downloaded for them to watch.

The whole kiss incident was the furthest thing from Stiles' mind the next morning. Which was probably why he had absolutely no suspicions of Derek when the bouquet showed up for him at work. He was on the phone with Mrs. Harris when it happened, trying to tell her that her prescription was ready and she should come pick it up at the pharmacy before it closed at three. He had to repeat himself three times and enunciate so loudly that a few of the shoppers near the pharmacist desk were side-eyeing him.

"Stilinski?" asked the man carrying the large bouquet in a big, glass vase.

Stiles covered the mouthpiece of the phone and eyed the guy warily. "Yeah?"

"These are for you," he said, setting them down on the desk and gently pulling the plastic bag away from the bright blooms. "Can you sign here to confirm delivery?"

"Uh," breathed out Stiles in surprise as he quickly juggled the phone to his shoulder so he could grab the pen from the man's hand. Distantly, he could hear Mrs. Harris speaking about her two cats from the other end of the line. He grimaced and made a grabby hand for the clipboard so the guy would hold it within his reach.

"Who are they from?" he asked after messily scrawling his name at the bottom of the page. The man tore the page from the clipboard and handed the white copy to Stiles.

"Says on the receipt," he said before giving Stiles a fake smile. "Have a nice day."

"Yeah, uh, you too," said Stiles looking from the guy's retreating back to the flowers sitting in front of him.

"Does someone have an admirer?" asked a lady about the same age as Scott's mom with a knowing smile.

"Surprising, isn't it," replied Stiles with a deprecating grin.

The woman just smiled benignly before setting her purchase down on the counter. Stiles held up a finger to signal he'd be one moment and turned his attention back to the phone. He shoved the receipt from the flower place in his trouser pocket, not having the chance to look it over.

"... but you know my Casper, he likes his liver cut up and-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harris, but I have to go," said Stiles, "I have a customer waiting on me."

"Alright, dear," she said, "thank you for calling, and say 'hello' to your mother for me."

Stiles grimaced, wondering who the old woman thought she was talking to. He made a mental note to call her again in an hour if she didn't show up to get her medication.

"Have a nice day," he said before hanging up and turning to the lady who was busy admiring his bouquet anyway.

It wasn't until he was finished work for the day and awkwardly carrying his glass vase of flowers out to his jeep that Stiles remembered the receipt in his pocket. He carefully placed the vase in the cupholder in his center console -it barely fit and stood very tall and teetering. Stiles tossed his bag into the back and pulled the receipt out of his pocket before getting into the driver's seat.

He scanned it over to find the billing information. The cost of the flowers wasn't on the receipt probably because it was a gift, but the person who it was billed to was there at the bottom with their name, address and phone number. Derek Hale.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Stiles in surprise.

It took a few blocks of mindless driving for Stiles to finally decide that the flowers were Derek's way of getting even for the kiss. It took a few more blocks for Stiles to tell himself that he shouldn't keep the flowers, even if they were the only flowers he'd ever received outside of condolence bouquets after his mom had died. They looked expensive. He kind of wanted to keep them, if he was honest with himself.

There was no way he could keep them, though. Well, he could probably get away with keeping them if he turned the joke around on Derek. He could make a big deal about them, proudly displaying them and talking about how Derek loved the kiss so much he bought Stiles flowers.

He didn't really want to do that, though. Honestly, he didn't think he could keep a straight face over it considering his heart was already skipping a few of its' beats just imagining Derek going through the trouble to pick out flowers for him. Yeah, so maybe Scott had been right about the crush thing. Whatever. And how come Stiles was being such a girl about getting flowers? No... wait... how come only girls were allowed to swoon over receiving flowers? Rude.

He could mentally dialogue himself in circles for hours if he let himself, so, instead, when Stiles passed the Beacon Hills hospital, he made a decision. They were nice flowers. Stiles wasn't going to waste them. He pulled into the hospital parking lot.

"Happy Pseudo Mother's Day," he brightly in greeting as he approached the nurse station Melissa McCall was sitting at.

He placed the flower arrangement in its expensive-looking, glass vase down on the desk in front of her, barely stopping himself from calling out a dramatic 'ta-da!' as he did so.

Melissa McCall looked up at him from her papers with a confused smile before looking at the flowers in front of her.

"Wow," she finally said after something of a pause, "there are really nice. I want to say 'thank you', but I'm a little scared of what they might be for."

"What do you mean 'what they might be for'?" asked Stiles. "They are for Pseudo Moteher's Day!"

"Mother's Day isn't for another month, Stiles," she said, raising her eyebrow.

"Yes, but this is Pseudo Mother's Day," explained Stiles. "It is a special day to celebrate all the super-special pseudo mothers out there."

"So, this isn't an apology gift?" she asked, reaching to touch the petals of a white flower, finally giving the flowers a real look.

"Do you really think I'd stoop so low as to try to butter you up with gifts before bring you bad news?" asked Stiles, giving her an exaggeratedly scandalized look. "Mrs. McCall! I thought you thought more of me!" He paused and squinted for a second before grinning slyly. "Actually, I've never really thought of trying that. Would it work?"

Melissa scoffed softly, shaking her head.

"I don't know," she said, giving him a wry grin. "I still haven't received my Sorry-I-Got-Your-Son-Bit-By-A-Werewolf bouquet of flowers."

"These could be that," said Stiles, gesturing at the flowers between them.

"Nope," said Melissa, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied look on her face. "These are my Pseudo Mother's Day flowers. You still owe me the other ones."

Stiles threw his hands out at the same time as he jutted his chin forward and frowned dramatically.

"You try to do something nice for a person..." he sighed, shaking his head and giving Melissa his most disappointed frown ever.

She simply grinned cheekily at him from her seat before standing up and motioning him closer.

"C'mere," she said, reaching for him and giving his forehead a big, motherly kiss. "Thank you, Sweety."

Stiles grinned brightly at her when she released him.

"See you later!" he called before heading back to the hospital's front sliding doors.

As he went, he heard a few other ladies coo over the flowers. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself when he heard Melissa thank them and say that her 'pseudo son gave them to her.

* * *

Stiles had been pretty proud of himself for keeping his mouth shut about the flowers. He hadn't given Derek any satisfaction of letting him know he had received them. He figured he had won and was feeling a bit cocky about it, which, of course, meant he was destined to crash and burn.

It was just a few days later when Derek threw him another curve ball. Erica and Derek often watched the lacrosse game since the rest of their pack were playing in it. After the game, they usually hung out on the bleachers until the guys were ready. That day, though, Derek approached the guys right after the game. It didn't really surprise Stiles, though, considering it was one of their few wins of the season and everyone was congratulating them.

When Derek was done patting his cubs on the shoulders, though, he approached Stiles. He didn't just approach Stiles, though, nope. He pulled him in for a quick kiss on the mouth and gave him a flirty smile as he congratulated him, too. Stiles had been so thrown by the whole thing that he could barely squeak out a lame 'thank you' before fleeing to the boys' locker room. Derek was such a bastard.

* * *

That Friday, when they were all gathered back at Derek's house, Stiles was surprised to have Derek sit down next to him on the couch instead of taking his usual seat apart from everyone. Maybe, considering the flowers and the kiss, he shouldn't have actually been that surprised. Still, though, Stiles couldn't help but hold his breath when Derek sat so close that their thighs were pressed together from hip to knee. It only got worse when, halfway through the movie, Derek put his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulled him close. Stiles didn't get to enjoy the rest of the movie, too busy feeling the surreptitious looks the pack members would randomly throw his way, and wondering at the repercussions of just leaning into Derek's side. It was fucking torture of the best/worst kind.

* * *

"Scott," said Stiles into his cell phone on Sunday, "I'm freaking out."

"Why?"

Stiles spun around in his computer chair before stopping himself to glare at the milkshake and order of curly fries Derek had dropped off for him with a coy smile.

"At first, I thought he was just screwing with me because of that whole kiss thing," said Stiles, wondering if it was admitting defeat if he ate the fries. "Now, though, I'm just... confused, man."

"What do you mean?" asked Scott.

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh.

"He's being all sweet and nice and shit," said Stiles, rubbing a hand over his short hair and down his face. "It is seriously scaring me at this point."

"So..." said Scott through an exhale. He sounded a little confused. "Are you worried he might be serious?"

"Maybe? I don't know!" said Stiles, throwing up a hand and leaning heavily back in his chair.

"Dude, you've got to calm down," chided Scott.

"Calm down? Would you be calm if... OH FUCK!"

"What?"

"Is there any kind of special courting process or anything for wolves?" asked Stiles, suddenly feeling panic rise in his throat. "Did I trigger some sort of mate thing with Derek by kissing him? Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh-"

"Stiles, don't be ridiculous," said Scott, cutting Stiles off of his freak out.

"So, do you think he's still messing with me?" asked Stiles, not sure which answer he was hoping for. it would be so nice if derek were actually genuine, but, at the same time, if this was how he worked, it was a little bit creepy.

"I think he might be," said Scott sounding sorry. Stiles wondered if he sounded overly hopeful in his question to make Scott sound regretful.

"Well, if he's messing with me," said Stiles, trying to push through, "then two can play at that game!"

"What?"

"He doesn't know that I know he's messing with me," said Stiles thoughtfully, before saying "don't tell him!"

"Why would I tell him?" asked Scott, almost affronted. "I don't talk to him."

"Oh man, Derek Hale, prepare to reap what you sow, buddy," said Stiles, a grin growing across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Ain't No Chicken

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Derek/Stiles... the rest of the pack

* * *

**PART TWO  
**

* * *

Derek stood in the school parking lot leaning against his car as all the students began to trickle out of the front doors of the high school. He was waiting on Isaac and slightly anxious about seeing him as the kid had spent the weekend at his foster home. Derek hated having his beta away from him so long, especially given Isaac's past, but soon the kid would turn eighteen and then he could choose where he lived.

Arms crossed and body language casual, Derek cooly surveyed the faces of the kids as they left the school building and flooded into the school parking lot. He didn't want to catch too much attention, but it seemed like that wouldn't be much problem; the teens so wrapped up in their own little lives. A group of girls grinned slyly at him, bursting into giggles once once they were past, but otherwise, most paid him no mind.

He smirked to himself when he saw Scott and Stiles come down the front steps, talking animatedly together, their heads tilted toward each other almost as if they were stuck together like conjoined twins. Derek was feeling pretty smug after seeing how wide Stiles' doe eyes had gone when he had stepped into the kid's room the night before to leave him his offering of cheeseburger and curly fries.

It was obvious that Derek had finally gotten the best of the little shit. He had promised himself he would lay off after that, deciding he had tortured the kid enough, but he couldn't help but grin Stiles' way seeing him now.

"What are you doing here?" spat Jackson, capturing Derek's attention.

He turned away from the school entrance to focus on Jackson and the asshole's friend who were walking past. Jackson was glaring angrily his way, though Derek knew it was mostly a front for appearances, while his friend, Daniel(?) was giving him a much more interested look.

Derek didn't bother responding, letting his single raised eyebrow do his talking, and Jackson didn't pause in anticipation of an answer. Derek watched the two make their way to Jackson's porsche out of the corner of his eye. Jackson would submit like a good beta during training, but outside of the Hale property, his defensive walls of ugly attitude were back up and in full force.

Suddenly, an arm was sliding around his waist and a body pressed against his side. Derek had enough presence of mind to keep himself from flinching in surprise even though he was shocked someone had been able to sneak up on him. He kept his face neutral and glanced over at the new body. Even worse, it wasn't just someone who had managed to sneek up on him, it was Stiles.

"Hey, Derek-poo," cooed Stiles in a sing-song voice that might have sounded completely comfortable and confident, but Derek could hear the speed of Stiles' heart. The rabbit-quick pounding of it sounded one sudden movement away from a coronary.

Even if it was obvious that Stiles was more than a little concerned about how he would be received, the casual touch and feel of a friendly body pressed against his side threw Derek off. He could feel his own heart rate picking up. People didn't just touch Derek, not without intent to damage or, sometimes, to seek safety from damage.

He clenched his jaw and glanced over at Stiles who had shrunk down in stance a little so he could look up at Derek from beneath his thick eyelashes. It wasn't fair. Derek wanted to push him down and storm away. He could practically hear Laura laughing at him and calling him a stupid adolescent boy scared of the object of his infatuation, only able to make contact with them through hair pulling and pushing. It was perhaps a good thing Laura and Erica had never met.

He glanced sideways to see that Jackson and his friend had stopped talking, frozen in their spots on either side of the car. Jackson looked like he was holding his breath, his eyes shining with excitement probably at the prospect of Stiles getting his ass kicked. Daniel... David... Darren...? Well, he looked intrigued and a little contemplative. Derek glanced to the other side to see Scott looking pale, his hand clenched tight around his backpack strap. A few other teens were looking their way, too, mildly curious.

Stiles had obviously figured out Derek's game and didn't want to go out without a fight. He was smart, though, choosing a busy place with plenty of witnesses incase Derek decided to take a swipe at him for his efforts. Obviously, the kid didn't know Derek was all bark and no bite when it came to him.

Derek deflated and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders, feeling a bit mechanical in the movement, but forcing himself to loosen up and look more natural. If Stiles wanted to keep this thing going, then it was his funeral. Derek smiled and pulled him closer, his smile maybe a little too bright. He took a deep breath and decided to go for gold, pressing a dry kiss to the side of Stiles' head and chancing a quick inhale of his scent.

He could hear Stils' breath hitch in his throat and grinned a little more easily at that. There was no way Stiles could win at this game, the kid was too young and hormonal, his face and body language too readily to project every single one of his feelings. Derek had to hand it to him for trying, but there was just no way.

Jackson's jaw was hanging open and Damian was smirking in an almost swarmy way. It was obvious to Derek why those two were friends. Stiles had definitely been wrong saying Danny -oh, right, Danny- was too nice to be friends with Jackson. Maybe the kid had a nice guy persona that worked with most people, but Derek could see the kid's inner douche like he had a neon, flashing sign on his forehead.

Derek was about to release Stiles, figuring he had won the round, but then the kid leaned further into him and opened his damn mouth.

"So," said Stiles in a stage whisper so those nearby could hear, "my dad's not home tonight and I was thinking... you could come by..."

The flirty way he moved his eyebrows as he spoke was ridiculous and over the top. So, why did it make Derek feel like he had been punched in the gut? Why did the way Stiles let the sentence trail off as he wiggled his shoulder against Derek make Derek's knees feel like jelly? Actually, Derek would probably be better off to not answer those questions. It was also better if he stopped his mind in its current descent into the land of things that a teen might want to do with their boyfriend when they had a house to themselves. Yeah, definitely best to cut that thought process off at the ankles.

Derek swallowed heavily as he spent a few seconds to wonder on his best course of action. He could feel his fight or flight instincts wanting to kick in and he was leaning more to the flight than the fight. How would he ever show his face around his pack again if he ran away from Stiles, though?

"Sounds perfect, Babe," rumbled Derek, nearly choking on the ridiculous pet name as he spoke it. It was worth it, though, for how Stiles went stiff at his side. "We need some more lube, though."

He glanced sideways at Stiles to see bright pink beginning to blossom across his cheeks.

"Don't get the vanilla flavored stuff again," said Stiles, despite the nervous bobbing of his adams apple, "it tastes awful. I seriously don't understand why the makers don't ever take into account the way their flavors taste when coupled with..."

"OH-KAY," cut in Scott, suddenly. He grabbed Stiles' free hand and dragged him out from under Derek's arm. "Mom's expecting us and I'm pretty sure that nobody needs to hear the rest of that sentence, anyway."

Derek frowned as he watched Scott drag Stiles away while Stiles made a ridiculous 'call me' gesture with outstretched pinky and thumb in Derek's direction. He wondered if Stiles had been making that up or if he had first hand experience as to the taste of vanilla flavored lube and come.

"What was that about?" asked Isaac, finally walking up to Derek, a few textbooks in hand.

Derek let out a huff of breath before turning to give Isaac a long-suffering look.

"Those two are idiots," he said, simply.

Isaac smirked, before stepping around Derek to get into the passenger side of the car. Derek watched Stiles get into his Jeep, flailing as he yelled at Scott. Derek didn't bother listening in on their conversation from across the bustling parking lot, just shook his head and got into his car.

If Stiles wanted war, he had it.

It was a few days before Derek would see Stiles again. Of course, that didn't mean he had a reprieve from whatever this new competition was between them.

Tuesday morning saw Derek opening his front door to find a flamboyantly decorated box sitting innocently on his front step. It was jarring because he hadn't sensed anyone come by. He glanced around feeling conspicuous before turning his attention back down to the bright, shiny wrapping paper covered box. He took a deep breath in through his nose, but all he could smell was the distinct scent of baked goods, so he quickly plucked it up before stepping back into his house and kicking his front door shut.

There was a note under the big, fabric flower taped to the top of the box, so Derek pulled it off to read it. He didn't receive a lot of gifts, but Derek assumed it was normal for a note to be just that, a note. This note was more like an essay. He unfolded the paper and growled under his breath as he read it.

It was irritatingly written just like Stiles' speech patterns. Derek could practically hear the kid's voice saying each word to him. The note began with some terrible pet names for Derek, before turning into an explanation of Stiles being told by his grandmother that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach, before turning into an all out mess of rambling thought processes on whether or not werewolves could be allergic to peanuts. In any case, it had enough clues in it that Derek shouldn't have been all that surprised when he opened the box to find a dozen peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.

He hid the box in the closet in his room after wolfing down (errr) a couple and being pleasantly surprised by Stiles' baking prowess.

Wednesday brought another garishly wrapped gift on his doorstep. After suffering through another overly long note in messy handwriting, he opened the gift bag to find a Red Riding Hood themed colouring book and a set of new pencil crayons. Derek spent an undeterminable amount of time simply staring, then blinking, then staring some more at the present in his hands. He made an unbelieving sound in his throat before stashing the gift in his closet with the box from the day before. Yes, he had finished off the entire dozen cookies in one day.

Thursday was a third gift on Derek's doorstep. This time a large fruit basket of all things. It was wrapped in cellophane and tied with a big, red, ribbon. This time the note was short, but still in the same chicken scratch printing.

By the time Friday morning arrived, Derek was irate over the mystery of how Stiles was sneaking to his house every morning before school completely undetected. He was even starting to feel a bit insecure about his alpha senses which was putting him even more on edge. It made no sense, he should have been hearing Stiles' Jeep rumble up the long, gravel road, smell the kid's presence, hear his clumsy gait as he fell out of his Jeep and stumbled up to the front step with the gifts in his hands.

Still, Derek stashed the fourth gift in his closet after reading the ridiculous note talking about the irony of the 'Sourwolf' having a 'sweet tooth'. Only after eating a few of the sugary rolls from the box of cinnamon buns, that is.

Derek was feeling strangely jittery by the time school let out that day. The pack was meeting at his place which usually meant that Stiles and Scott would tag along, too. They weren't officially pack, but sometimes Derek would catch himself thinking them as such. It wasn't his fault they weren't, though, it was Scott's. Scott was the one who had turned him down, who hadn't been receptive in the least to any of Derek's attempts at forming a brotherhood. Yet, the damn kid would show up to pack movie nights at Derek's as if it wasn't the biggest, ugliest mixed signal ever. Truly, despite being human, Stiles felt more pack to Derek than Scott did. So, when Derek ever felt his hackles rise over Scott, he just focused on Stiles instead.

Tonight, though, it was Stiles who was making Derek feel nervous and out of sorts. It was like the kid had been conditioning him all week for it. The gifts on his doorstep that arrived without any wind of the gifter, himself, had him both on edge and also feeling a little excited to see Stiles again. It was a strange sort of feeling and had him pacing the length of his front deck like a caged animal.

Some people might have felt inclined to call Derek a dick, but personally, he thought his response to Stiles' idiotic kiss had been hilarious. If those damn teenagers were going to involve him in their juvenile games, then he'd damn well rise to the challenge. Not that it was much of a challenge -a call to the local florist, a trip to Sonic, and a few incidents of ignoring social standards of personal space boundaries, and Stiles had looked ready to roll over.

Derek had done it to get back at him for using him in the stupid bet as if he were the neighbourhood senior the kids dared each other to knock on the door of and run away. Yeah, it was payback and also another opportunity to show the kids not to mess with him. What it definitely wasn't was an excuse for him to 'woo' his long-time crush under the safe guise of farce. Erika didn't know what she was talking about; Derek didn't woo and he definitely didn't have a crush.

The problem though, was this. It was the retaliation. Stiles had recovered way too quickly, not even giving Derek much time to enjoy his gloating over having freaked the kid out. He probably should have anticipated it, knowing Stiles, but really, who retaliates on a retaliation? There might not be an official rule book on the subject, but Derek was pretty sure the proper thing to do would be to let him have his revenge in peace.

And Stiles was good, of course he was, the conniving little brat.

It only amplified everything the kid pulled that perhaps there had been something to Erika's observation. Not that she was right, but maybe she hadn't been completely wrong. Derek hadn't received a gift since before the house fire. Despite them being silly and downright ridiculous (a red riding hood colouring book!? really?) at times, once Derek had realized the trend, he had found himself looking forward to checking his front step every morning.

When Stiles arrived, half leaping, half falling out of his Jeep like he had been folded into the vehicle and it was difficult to get his gangly, baby gazelle legs under him again, Derek could feel his pulse pick up just slightly. It made his face heat up and he had to duck into the kitchen for a glass of water to hide from the teens filling up his living room. Of course, Stiles was quick to seek him out, finding him in the kitchen straight away instead of sitting down in the living room with the rest of the kids.

"Heeey, there, Puppyface," cooed Stiles as he stepped around the kitchen island to grab a glass from the cabinet.

Derek paused, his own glass halfway to his mouth, and forced himself to give Stiles a judging look. Stiles definitely caught it, but only grinned and shrugged before filling his glass with water from the kitchen tap.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" asked Stiles almost conversationally before leaning against the counter right next to Derek and taking a long drink.

Derek forced his features into an annoyed glare as he watched the long line of Stiles' throat and the bob of his adam's apple. He grunted his response, not allowing himself to speak just yet. Stiles set down his glass on the counter and gave Derek a bright smile that was slightly timid before bumping his hip and then his shoulder against Derek and then leaving the kitchen to join everyone else in the living room.

That evening, Stiles sat right next to Derek on the loveseat, which he had made of a point emphasizing the name of. The kid had edged his way closer and closer to Derek through the movies, and, because Derek refused to let on that his proximity was affecting him, was practically in his lap by the end of the evening.

It was torture. The teasing, the flirty grins, the coy smiles, the pet names (ridiculous and sometimes humiliating as they might have been) throughout the evening were building upon each other and giving Derek a strange, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Did Stiles even really know just how much power his coy smiles held? Did he realize how alluringridiculous he looked when he batted those long, dark eyelashes Derek's way? There couldn't be any way that he knew, or he'd have everyone he ever fancied wrapped securely around his finger.

Probably, the only thing giving Stiles the confidence to act in such a way so openly was that they both knew it was in farce. Still, it was throwing Derek off enough that he wasn't able to follow his plan of out-flirting Stiles. Instead, he felt the embarrassed frown on his face get deeper and deeper in his features as the night wore on. Once everyone left, he trudged up to his bedroom to throw himself on his bed and take a few deep, calming breaths.

Unfortunately, when Derek got there, it was to discover that his room smelled like Stiles had been there and his bed was covered in roses.

Derek was still wildly angry about the roses come Saturday. So, after a quick breakfast, a short shower, and a morning run through the forest (where he was slightly disappointed to find there was no gift on his doorstep when he opened the door), he got into his car and raced over to Stiles' house. There were vehicles in the driveway when he arrived, but Derek knocked harshly on the front door anyway. When no one answered and, after a few moments of intense listening where Derek confirmed the house was empty, Derek climbed back into his car, shutting the door with a little too much force, and angrily called Stiles.

"Good morning, Pookiebear," chirped Stiles into the phone when he answered. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

Derek ground his teeth.

"Where are you?" he asked in less of a question and more of a demand.

"Why?" asked Stiles either not catching Derek's mood over the phone or choosing to ignore it. "Do you miss me already, Sweetums?"

Derek growled in his throat, but chose to listen to the noise in the background instead of trying to get the information out of Stiles. There was a lot of voices and a distant clatter of kitchen items. Derek hung up and backed out of the Stilinski driveway before peeling off down the road toward the local cafe and ice cream parlour.

He felt a little smug when he pulled up in front of Susan's and saw Stiles' Jeep in the parking lot. He forced himself to walk calmly into the cafe instead of making an angrily frenzied entrance. He visually scanned the room from the doorway before spotting Stiles sitting with Scott, Lydia, and Allison in a booth near the far corner.

"DereBear," exclaimed Stiles happily when Derek strode up to their table and admittedly loomed over it, "I didn't expect to see you here, MuffinButt! Have you come for their delicious pancakes, too?"

Derek paused, despite his bubbling anger, and couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder to look at his ass in response to Stiles' words -MuffinButt? He shook his head and continued in his rage.

"Stiles," he ground out, before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him out of the booth.

Stiles went pale(r) in the face and sputtered unintelligibly as Derek duck-walked him out of the store to the sound of Scott's confused protests. He dragged Stiles around the corner, once they were outside and pushed him up against the alley wall to glare into his big, beautiful eyes.

"You put roses on my bed," he growled into Stiles' face.

"I.. er... that could have been anyone," squeaked out Stiles before flinching back more snugly against the brick wall at his back.

"You were in my room," Derek ground out, feeling slightly crazed with it. "No one goes in my room."

"No one?" asked Stiles. "Dude, that can't be good for your social life, if you know what I mean. Seriously, don't the ladies...or men... line up to be with you? And yet... you know, if you were to get laid on a semi-regular basis, maybe you wouldn't be so... growly."

Derek growled in response before wincing at the irony of it. Stiles had the audacity to snicker at that.

"Are you offering?" asked Derek in a low voice that he once heard Stiles jokingly call his batman voice. Stiles' eyes went even wider at that. Derek watched as the kid's adam's apple bobbed in his throat a bunch of times as he continued to nervously swallow over and over again. "Didn't think so," said Derek, giving Stiles one more rough push before letting him go.

He turned to leave and could hear Stiles quickly recover behind him to run after him in his clumsy gait.

"So, just to clarify," said Stiles as he caught up to Derek, "the bedroom thing was what crossed the line, but everything else..."

"Everything crossed the line," growled Derek, swinging around to point in Stiles' face. He wasn't sure he liked what it said about him that he so enjoyed watching the kid flinch and stutter.

"What," squeaked Stiles before clearing his throat and trying again in his usual voice, "What, you don't like being wooed?"

"Wooed?" scoffed Derek. "That wasn't wooing, that was creepy stalking."

"You mean like sending flowers to someone's workplace, or randomly swinging into their bedroom window with their favorite fast food combo in tow in the middle of the night-"

"It was eight o'clock," argued Derek in monotone.

"Not the point!" exclaimed Stiles. "How about the sheer creepiness of your entire existence? Who just hangs around a high school watching everyone with a frowny face? Creepy old pedophiles, that's who!"

Derek grumbled, his shoulders hunched up and his heart beating in his ears.

"I was looking out for my betas," he hissed. "And the rest of that stuff wasn't creepy, it was thoughtful and romantic."

"Thoughtful and romantic?" exclaimed Stiles in what looked like disbelief. "Thoughtful and romantic!? You want thoughtful and romantic? I'll give you thoughtful and romantic! You go on a date with me tomorrow night and I'll be so thoughtful and romantic that you'll have hearts and rainbows coming out of your eye sockets! I'll show you thoughtful and romantic!"

Derek furrowed his brow in confusion at the same time as he saw Stiles' eyes widen and his eyebrows race to his hairline in surprise at his own words.

"Um," Stiles stammered.

"Was that..." started Derek, taking a step back from Stiles where they had both gravitated to being right up in each other's faces and personal spaces. "Did you just... ask me on a date?"

"Um," stammered Stiles, his voice cracking. "No?"

"Was that a joke like everything else, or were you serious?" asked Derek, narrowing his eyes as Stiles.

"Well, um, that depends," answered Stiles.

Derek wanted to hate himself and Stiles for the hope that suddenly swelled in his chest. And where did that come from, anyway? Instead, he forced his face neutral.

"Depends on what?" he prompted.

Stiles looked down at his feet in a very un-Stiles-like manner, kicking at a pebble and looking incredibly nervous.

"It depends on whether you'll laugh in my face or not," he finally said, looking up at Derek with a vulnerability Derek hadn't seen there before.

Derek inched closer to Stiles, reaching to touch the side of his face. He moved slow, giving Stiles time to get away, but Stiles didn't move away, didn't even look like he wanted to. Derek brushed his fingers over Stiles' face, enjoying the sharp inhalation his touch earned him. It wasn't a frightened gasp, it was more anticipatory, and Derek found he liked that response a thousand times better than the flinches and gasps he earned from intimidating the kid.

"Does this make me a 'creepy old pedophile'?" whispered Derek as he leaned in.

"No, nope," stammered Stiles emphatically. "I'm nearly eighteen for one, and you're, what? twenty six?"

"Twenty four," corrected Derek, softly.

"Yeah, so, hardly any age difference there," said Stiles. "Like, in ten years from now it won't seem like anything."

"You asked me on one date and I haven't even said yes yet," said Derek, not able to keep from grinning in amusement. "Do you expect us to still be together in ten years?"

"Why?" asked Stiles, some of his confidence returning, even as his heartbeat continued to flutter at hummingbird speed in his chest. "Are you planning on dumping me? Because I'm pretty sure it isn't indicative of a healthy beginning if you are going into a relationship expecting to break up with that person. Not that this is a relationship and not that you are going into it or.. you know... are you... are you even gay? What is happening right now?"

"I've never been one for labels," whispered Derek.

He knew he was outright smiling at that point. It felt foreign on his face, but in a good way. Finally, he leaned in and brushed his lips against the lush, pink of Stiles' that he may or may not have developed something of a fixation on over the past few months. Stiles inhaled sharply again, before throwing his hands up to awkwardly rest on Derek's shoulders.

Derek took that as encouragement, tilting his head and leaning in to deepen the kiss. He could both hear and feel Stiles' groan before Stiles pressed into the kiss, opening under Derek's lips in a welcoming manner. He tasted like pancakes and syrup when Derek dared to swipe his tongue across Stiles' lips before sucking the bottom one into his mouth to gain another groan from Stiles.

When they finally pulled apart, Derek couldn't help but lean back in to plant a couple extra kisses to those lips. Stiles was grinning like an idiot when Derek finally let him go.

"So, seven o'clock tomorrow night?" asked Stiles, sounding winded. "I'll pick you up at your place?"

"I am not driving around in your jeep," stated Derek, letting his face fall into a familiar frown.

"Are you offering to let me drive your car?" asked Stiles, grinning.

Derek grumbled.

"I'll pick you up at your place," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

"I'll be ready," replied Stiles, grinning broadly. "I'll see you then. I need to go finish my pancakes and then I have a busy day of driving glove shopping ahead of me."

"I didn't say I was going to let you drive my car, Idiot," said Derek, taking advantage of their still close proximity to cuff Stiles lightly on the back of his head.

"You didn't say you wouldn't, either," countered Stiles.

Derek watched as he bit his bottom lip and suddenly went bashful. He barely even had enough time to raise a questioning eyebrow before Stiles was leaning in to steal a quick kiss before turning to half run, half fall in his haste to leave.

"See you tomorrow Derry-Boo!" he called over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Derek let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head and wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

* * *

Find me on tumblr as _**idareu2bme**_


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